


It's a new dawn, a new day.

by wearethewitches



Series: author's favourites [14]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Aliens, Canonical Character Death, Children, Companions, Episode Remix, F/F, Family, Friendship, Gallifrey, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Geniuses, Grief/Mourning, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Multiple Doctors (Doctor Who), Mystery Kids, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Serial: s129 The Five Doctors, Rescue, Secret Identity, Space Wives, Temporal Paradox, Thirteenth Doctor Era, Time Loop, Time Shenanigans, Wizard of Oz References, he/they pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-06-17 23:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: When the TARDIS is grabbed mid-flight, the Doctor ends up in the Death Zone.But which Doctor? TOO MANY.-a la 'The Five Doctors' - Doctors Thirteen, Twelve, Eleven, Eight and one more mystery face end up in the Death Zone, facing hardship and turmoil, all the while trying to figure out who brought them here and why.It probably doesn't help that Thirteen's pretending to be Romana, Eight can barely remember who he is, Eleven is insisting on wearing a poncho and Twelve is dragging along not only a small child of indeterminate origin, but a handcuffed Missy, too, who refuses to stop teaching said small child of indeterminate origin how to pick locks.





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The Doctor is busy tinkering with the sonic on the ground when her wife flounces in, all angel curls and distracted eyes. The TARDIS doors slam and the Doctor watches, unblinking, as River approaches the console, her hand creeping over to a railing to hold on as her time machine begins to wheeze and groan.

 _So much for the blue buttons,_ the Doctor thinks, lips curling into a smile as River haphazardly drives, unused to her console and unable to find the stabilisers. The sonic – so different, so _unfinished_ – and all the bits she was using to fiddle with it slip into the pocket of her dressing gown, hidden from sight. When the TARDIS enters the Vortex, roaming quietly, River finally notices the other person in the room.

“Oh,” River startles, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“It’s alright,” the Doctor says, still smiling. River obviously doesn’t recognise her and that’s fine – the Doctor didn’t even recognise herself, for a while. “You can fly her. Not many people can do that.”

“No, not many people can…I’m sorry,” River shakes her head, hand curling around the console as the other tracks a line across her pelvis, “but who are you? Are you one of my husband’s companions?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor says, shamelessly and without a hint of a lie. This face is good at bluffing. “The name’s Romana of the House of Dvora.”

River’s eyebrow rises. “Dvora?”

“Gallifreyan House,” the Doctor says, as if it explains everything. River grips the console tightly and the Doctor wonders how her wife feels about other Gallifreyans – is she scared? Apprehensive? _Jealous?_ “Who are you?”

“…Melody,” River says and _that_ is interesting. Is River afraid of something or is this something new she’s trying?

“Melody, like a song,” the Doctor replies, hauling herself up, fixing her dressing gown. Well- fixes _Clara’s_ dressing gown. The Doctor has been borrowing a lot of clothes from her old companions, recently. Her downtime is full of dress-up, trying on new things. It’s a fun game, finding out what makes this body tick, even if she’s settled for now in that pink-red rainbow shirt, suspenders and long coat. _I’ve always liked long coats._

“Yes,” River says, looking her up and down ever so subtly. “How long have you been travelling with the Doctor?”

“Years. He’s a right tosser, sometimes, but the running always gets me,” the Doctor says, seeing a low shadow in the corridor behind River. There’s a moment where her eyes flicker over, catching sight of Jenny, but her small daughter disappears before River can see when she looks in turn, following the Doctor’s gaze.

“Thought I saw K9,” the Time Lady offers in excuse. “You ever met him?”

“No,” River says, to the Doctor’s delight.

“Really?” the Doctor questions. She bounds over, taking River’s hand, tugging her in the direction of the corridor, “Come on, I’ll introduce you!”

“Alright,” River says, slightly befuddled. The Doctor pulls her over to the corridor, leading her down it, past the living room where Sky Smith is asleep on the sofa and through the kitchen where K9 has left track-marks. The Doctor thinks he must have been in the art room, if the sparkling, yellow and green never-dry paint smeared on the floor is anything.

“Everything is different,” River says, when they reach the indoor garden. The ceiling is high and the sky twinkles above them, stars shining and nebulas swirling on the holographic display. Plants from hundreds of times grow around them and over by the Earth flowers, K9 is set in his charging dock.

Beside him, as if she’s been there all along, is Jenny.

“Hey, Jen,” the Doctor greets her. “Is K9 awake?”

“No,” Jenny says, glancing over at them, looking through a long red fringe. “I put him to sleep.”

 _She looks so much like Donna,_ the Doctor thinks, even though she knows it’s not true. Jenny regenerated the day they reunited and there’s something to be said about the Doctor’s luck that her daughter manages to pick up the ginger gene and the Doctor doesn’t. Letting go of River’s hand, she goes to her daughter, plopping down onto the lavender grass, tugging the girl onto her lap.

“This is Melody – she can drive the TARDIS,” the Doctor grins, motioning River over with a quick tilt of her head. River is wary, glancing around, as if expecting a past Doctor to jump out of nowhere, asking why she’s being all domestic with his companions, but she comes over, sitting tentatively on the grass.

The Doctor only then notices she’s wearing a long red opera dress which probably _shouldn’t_ be sat on the ground in, however the Doctor knows River and River likely doesn’t give a damn.

“The Doctor’s out right now getting milk,” the Doctor offers, “though I don’t know how he’s going to get back here, considering you took us somewhere.”

“An… _acquaintance_ of mine will be in the immediate area for some time,” River says, “I’m sure they’ll run into each other. Either my acquaintance will be banished or we’ll return in the nick of time to pick that old man up.”

“He’s very old,” Jenny agrees quietly, the Doctor giving her arm a quick squeeze in protest. River laughs, though.

“Yes, he is. Who might you be?”

“Jennifer Larn,” Jenny enunciates, tongue curling around the words in a posh, Victorian-esque, London fashion, which sounds _dead_ wrong to the Doctor’s ears, not when her daughter should be speaking in a Cardiff accent. “How do you do?”

“I’m quite tired, to be honest,” River says. “Running from old enemies does that to you. What’s a young girl like you doing on the TARDIS?”

Here, the Doctor interjects before Jenny can take control of the situation, ruining the game or _worse_ – playing along while _also_ revealing that River is, in all technicalities, a step-mother.

“Jen’s my daughter. Didn’t want to live on Gallifrey with my kids anymore, not after the War,” the Doctor says, smile fading somewhat as she continues, “and I took Sky in when her mum died. Sarah-Jane Smith. Amazing, brilliant woman. She had a son, too, but he was in uni by the time she passed. He’s still on Earth. You probably saw Sky conked out in the living room, back there. The Doctor owed me a favour, which is why we’re holed up in here.”

River looks interested. Her mouth opens, probably to ask a question, but all of a sudden the stars and nebulas above begin flashing mauve and the Doctor shoots to her feet, depositing Jenny beside K9 roughly as the cloisters begin to ring.

“K9, wake up,” she orders, the tin dog powering up.

“ _Mis-tress. My auditory processors are picking up cloister warning sounds. Code Mauve._ ”

“K9, stay with Jenny,” the Doctor orders, looking to River, offering her a hand. River takes it, her dress not the most convenient in an emergency, hauling herself up. “You should go get changed. I’m sure the TARDIS will move the wardrobe next door. Meet me in the console room.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” River questions her.

The Doctor’s eyes glint and a smile breaks over her face, “I was President of Gallifrey during the Time War, before Rassilon overthrew me and I travelled with the Doctor in his fourth face, for two of _my_ faces – I have this, Mels.”

* * *

… _I haven’t got this._

The Code Mauve is because of Time Lord intervention. Something is trying to lock it’s metaphorical and metaphysical claws into the TARDIS. Nothing the Doctor is doing can stop it from happening – she just feels lucky they were only drifting through the Vortex, rather than flying somewhere. It would be easy for the Time Lord’s to redirect them, if they were doing that, providing they still had the technology lying around.

“Can I do anything else?” Sky questions, barely hanging on as things start to get bumpy, flipping a switch on the console. The Doctor similarly has to switch grips as the TARDIS jerks violently, gritting her teeth.

“The TARDIS is going to get damaged – going to get _hurt._ This technology trying to snatch us isn’t meant for her Type of TARDIS-” with another jerk comes another body, River stumbling up to the console, trying to adjust her two portions of the six-man vehicle “-it’s meant for later models!”

“What if we let them take us? Then, we change the time-space coordinates after they’ve already done it?”

The Doctor grabs a monitor, adjusting the angle harshly so she can see the rapidly-changing Gallifreyan, the engine levels very much _not_ happy. Out of the corner of her eye, she can’t help but admire the fine cut of River’s blue trousers, muscled arms bare and _fine,_ as the kids say in the twenty-first century. For once, there’s no Vortex Manipulator strapped to her wrist, though. _Where is it?_ The Doctor wonders as she speaks.

“Maybe,” she says, “but I’ve got kids on board who I don’t want to endanger, if we can’t do it.”

“I’m not a kid,” Sky argues.

“Not now,” the Doctor snaps, “and you’re a teenager, which is a form of child. Get over it. I need you to reset that processor to your left.”

Sky growls slightly, but gets to work, “What am I turning it into?”

The Doctor motions to River for a brief moment, hands sliding across her part of the console, turning levers and switching buttons. “We’re going to go through with her plan anyway, despite you and Jen being onboard. If we don’t, the TARDIS starts getting harmed very soon and that can lead to _worse_ things. I need you to familiarise yourself with the reformatting of the space-time coordinates. It doesn’t matter what you turn them into, just memorise the sequence so you can repeat it.”

“Okay?” Sky says, fiddling with the dials, “I’ve got one.”

“Now we travel there,” River says, easily taking over the Doctor’s information, “and when they grab us, you turn those numbers right back to what they were.”

“Readying for TARDIS flight,” the Doctor says, “on your mark, River.”

“On three,” River says, brow furrowing. “Hang on, how do you know my name?”

 _Damn it,_ the Doctor sighs, but she shakes her head at the same time. “Not now. Let’s escape what is assumedly the High Council, _then_ talk.”

“Fine. On three,” River says, working her two station. “One, two-”

“Three!” the Doctor finishes, lunging over to Sky’s station to slam her hand on the purple button. Immediately, the TARDIS begins to wheeze-groan, before the cloisters double in volume, the dials Sky had set spinning and sticking on new numbers, glowing gold. “And we’re stolen! Sky, turn the numbers back!”

Sky immediately tries to fiddle with the console, but the Doctor sees the stuck buttons, the levers not budging under Sky’s hands.

“They aren’t moving!” Sky quickly grabs onto the console once again as they jerk, but its not enough for any of them, the three time travellers all hitting the floor. The cloisters are still sounding and the noise is getting to the Doctor’s head, so when she stands up again, she switches them off. “Where are we going?”

The Doctor leans over her way once more, peering at the space-time coordinates. Immediately, alarm bells go off in her head, mouth going dry. There’s a flip-flopping in her gut and a queasiness that doesn’t fade as she staggers around, switching places with her young companion.

“We’re locked on,” she announces, matching eyes with River. “We’re heading to the Death Zone.”

“Death Zone?” River questions, “What the hell is that?”

“Think the Hunger Games, but Gallifrey-style,” the Doctor says, grim as she turns back to Sky. “Stay in the TARDIS. Find Jenny and K9 and lock yourself in a room. Don’t come out for _anything_ , not even me.”

“I want to help,” Sky says, “I don’t need to hide away, Mum.”

The word hits the Doctor like a hammer to the gut, like it always does. It chases her queasiness away, replacing it with grief-tinged longing. _Oh, my Sarah, your daughter…_

“This is about keeping you safe.” The Doctor uses a jerking of the TARDIS to her advantage, knowing there’s nothing they can do to stop her being tugged through the Vortex. Her hand clasps Sky’s shoulder. “Please, just _go_. The Death Zone is an arena, full of dangers untold. They can scoop anything from any time and drop it down inside. Daleks and cybermen are the only things you will never find there – but everything else, in all of space and time are up for grabs. _Go._ ”

Sky reaches up, grabbing her arm. “I don’t want you to go out there, then. I already lost my mother. Don’t make me lose you, too.”

“You won’t, promise, love,” the Doctor swears, before pulling her gently, shoving her in the direction of the corridor. “Find Jen. I think she’s in the garden.”

“Okay. Stay safe!” Sky orders, brushing her long brown hair behind her ear as she points at the Doctor fiercely. The Doctor nods rapidly, watching her leave as the TARDIS comes to a final standstill.

“…so, Time Lord Hunger Games,” River says, “What should we expect?”

“The Death Zone is in a time bubble, separate from reality,” the Doctor describes, looking at the display screen. A picture of outside appears, the thick fog making it impossible to see much more than a sandy beach floor. “It’s kind of like a game board. Bits can be moved about. At the end is the tomb of Rassilon, bloody codger. We don’t get on. He tried to be President again after the war ended but I-”

The Doctor pauses.

“But I got the Doctor involved,” she says, _because I’m Romana, aren’t I?_ “And he became the new President of Gallifrey. Saved the day, didn’t he? Always does. We searched for the Keys to Time, when I was younger.”

“The Doctor as President – should I be worried?” River jokes, sidling up beside her. Her head tilts. “Who’s that?”

The Doctor looks back to the display. In the fog, she sees someone walking around hesitantly, stumbling over a rock. _A man,_ the Doctor thinks, reaching to turn a dial, the sound turning up so they can hear odd mutterings. The Doctor turns the sound up a little more, so they can hear him.

“ _-chips. A good kebab. Yeah. Yeah, I deserve a good kebab. Kebab and chips. Bloody aliens. Bloody Slitheen…this goop is soaking into my jeans._ ”

“Hold on, I know that voice,” the Doctor blinks, squinting closer. “Is that…the tin dog. Oh my god, it’s Mickey Smith. Why’s he going on about the Slitheen?”

Twisting away from the display, she heads for the doors, opening them both up just as Mickey catches sight of the TARDIS. He stops still, barely six feet from her, staring.

“…am I seeing things?” he questions, “Is this another trick?”

“C’mon Mickey, you can do better than that,” the Doctor says, grinning. “The Doctor’s away right now, but you and I have met in another time and place, see? Get inside, will you?”

Mickey’s shoulders drop – in relief or exhaustion, the Doctor doesn’t know. He moves forwards and suddenly, the Doctor can see the green goo splattered all over his black jeans and jacket, smelling it.

“You’re _ripe,_ ” the Doctor wrinkles her nose, letting him inside, shutting the doors behind him. “How’d you end up in the Death Zone?”

“Scooped up by some aliens. Nutters in red robes, not that you’re much better, no offence – that dressing gown is dodgy to be wearing, in dangerous situations like this,” he says, peeling off his leather jacket and then his shoes. He glances around. “He redecorated.”

“Yeah, cool, right?” the Doctor grins, ignoring his comment on Clara’s dressing gown and twirling around to look at her TARDIS. The console room is beautifully large this time around. Orange, blue, silver – a cage of lights overlooking crystal columns, matching the crystal time rotor.

“Tidy,” Mickey admits as he looks from side to side. “So…who are you? How do you know the Doctor?”

“She travelled with him, way back when,” River answers one of his questions, “in one of his earlier faces.”

“I travelled with the tall one in a trenchcoat,” Mickey replies fondly, as if only one regeneration wore a trench-coat, “and I knew the one before that, with the big ears and leather jacket. He was kind of stuck-up, back then.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” River purrs, the two obviously getting along, if Mickey’s grin back at her is any indication. The Doctor rolls her eyes, before checking the TARDIS controls.

 _We’re stuck,_ she confirms grimly. _No getting out of here until they let us._ “Did you see anyone out there, Mickey?”

“Just me and some Slitheen,” Mickey says, “but I was in the middle of pouring out vinegar into a cup for my dinner. Martha and I, we keep some in the cupboard in a big plastic container, yeah? Me and Jackie, we blew them up before and it was a precaution, so when the dudes in red transported me, I was just like…I’m going to throw this on them so they don’t kill me, like we always planned.”

“If you had to,” the Doctor murmurs, grimacing. Unfortunately, any Slitheen in the Death Zone were very much likely out to kill the other inhabitants in their panic – you don’t exactly _plan_ being taken by a Time Scoop. She has no reason to scold him for his actions; in any case, Romana never would have, the Doctor doesn’t believe at least. “Wardrobe is down that corridor,” she directs him, when the smell of exploded Slitheen reaches her nose again.

“Cool,” he says, utterly at ease, now he’s in familiar space. He goes to move towards it, but stops. “Who are you, again?”

“Romanadvoratrelundar,” the Doctor says. “Romana for short. Or Fred. We’ve met already, from my perspective, at least.”

“Alright Fred,” Mickey looks to River. “I’m Mickey.”

“River Song,” River greets, eyes flickering back to the Doctor as Mickey gives a mock-salute, disappearing into the bowels of the TARDIS. “We have time to talk now. How did you know my real name? I told you I was Melody.”

The Doctor begins to feel bad. _This is my wife,_ she thinks, nervous, rubbing her hands on her dressing gown. _I need to change._ “Just a few minutes longer,” she stalls, crouching down to slip into the bowels of the TARDIS engines, dropping through a trap-door. Once she shuts it behind her, locking it, she changes out of her unicorn pyjamas and Clara’s dressing gown, hanging them up where her usual get-up had been staying.

A knock comes from the trap-door. The Doctor doesn’t open up. River demands she tell her how she knows her and when the Doctor hears her wife’s sonic, she quickly digs out her own, happy to have basic locking and unlocking all set up to combat intruders.

“Not really an intruder, though,” the Doctor says to herself, wondering where in her timeline her wife is. Is this after Darillium? Is this before Demons Run? The Doctor wonders if being happy to see her was wrong – if she should have been more nervous, like now, or if she should have been honest from the start. “Probably,” she answers her own question aloud, playing with her earrings.

At least five minutes pass before another knock comes, this one accompanied by a ringing in her ear. Well, not _really_ her ear. More like her brain. The Doctor shuts her eyes, reaching out to Jen above, where she’s reaching out from.

 _‘River is angry,’_ Jenny says in her head.

‘ _River wants to know how I know she’s called River and I’m being a chicken,_ ’ the Doctor confesses. _‘I haven’t seen her since Darillium. Those were some of the best years of my life and now I’ve got her believing I’m my old friend Romana._ ’

‘ _Keep doing it,_ ’ Jenny does the mental equivalent of a shrug. _‘I want to know her. Is that okay?’_

 _‘Sure, scamp. Why keep up the game, though?’_ the Doctor questions, wanting to know why Jenny thinks she should.

‘ _Recon,_ ’ Jenny replies shortly. _‘Now come upstairs and say that you’ve met before, pretend it’s in her future. You’re terrible at keeping secrets.’_

‘ _Thanks for that,_ ’ the Doctor shakes her head.

‘ _You are though,_ ’ Jenny argues, before physically knocking again. The Doctor sighs, before tucking the sonic in her jacket pocket, manually unlocking the trap-door. When she opens it, she finds Jenny kneeling in front of it, but her daughter scrambles out of the way when the Doctor hauls herself up.

“Sorry, I was getting dressed, stressed and panicky,” she says to River. “A costume change was necessary. Sorry. I’m just…not good with anomalies. We’ve met before, see.”

“Why didn’t you just _say?_ ” River demands, cross. “We’re stuck in this place – be more honest with us, if you will.”

“Yes, I agree,” Jenny pipes up, on her feet again, yellow anorak on over her blue and white dress. The Doctor narrows her eyes.

“You only wear that when you’re going outside,” she states, before deducing, “You want to go outside.”

“I’m combat trained,” Jenny says, staunch. “I can take them.”

“Not in this body, you can’t. May I remind you that you’re not a child-soldier anymore?” the Doctor says, tugging at the top button of her anorak when Jenny scowls. “Come on. Go to your room and hide out with Sky – make a fort, or something.”

“I’d rather be with you,” Jenny says, mulish.

“Who even said I’m going outside?”

Mickey – apparently back already, sitting on one of only four chairs in the central console area – snorts. “You’re like us. Of course you’re going back out, if you can’t leave with the TARDIS. How else are we going to find out the reason we’re here?”

“It’s for sport,” the Doctor answers. “Or misdirection, so someone can try get immortality and sort of get it. I’ve been here before, when President Borusa brought me and my past selves all together to distract the High Council. The Master was even here, once and he only survived because he’s a canny mastermind. All the other investigators died. If it’s not safe for fully grown Time Lords, it’s _definitely_ not safe for Time Tots.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Jenny mutters with a roll of her eyes.

“You love it,” the Doctor smiles briefly, before Mickey questions her.

“How did you survive, then? How are you special?”

The Doctor glances back at Mickey, wondering if there’s some way she can tell him who she _really_ is, without giving it away to River. _I’ll say something I said to him before._

“You’re the tin dog, Mickey,” she says. “You figure it out.”

“ _Mis-tress,_ ” K9 then protests from the other side of the console, “ ** _I_** _am your robotic canine companion. Mickey Smith is a humanoid._ ”

“Holy Jesus-” Mickey startles, getting to his feet, head twisting as he moves to look at K9. “Dude! I’ve not seen you in ages, _damn_ dog.” Mickey rushes over, crouching down to put his hand on the robot dog’s head, flicking his red sensory probe. “Aww, it’s so good to see you. Last time we met, you were on the other side of a screen and the time before that, you were blown up.”

“ _My databanks are hardly compromised,_ ” K9 replies in that cheeky voice of his. The Doctor snorts at his version of, _I remember._

Mickey rolls his eyes, standing up. “Ruined the moment. Great job, dog.”

K9 whirls and beeps, before trundling over to the Doctor. “ _Mis-tress. I have detected the presence of an anomaly in space-time, similar in signature to that of other Time Lords._ ”

The Doctor glances at River, who K9 now looks to. “That’s River Song. Uplink with the TARDIS if you want some info, but it’s not my place to get into it.”

“ _Yes, Mis-tress. Am I to assume the anomaly is not a threat?_ ”

“Of course she is, she’s _River Song,_ ” the Doctor says probably _too_ proudly. Chastising herself, she tones it down. “I mean, yeah, not a threat to us. She’s more dangerous than me, at times.”

“ _Noted,_ ” K9 says, before falling silent.

“Uh, Mum?” Sky clears her throat, “Where’s Jenny?”

The Doctor whirls around, but Jenny is nowhere in sight. Dashing in a circle, checking behind River, down the trapdoor and in the nook off to the side, the Doctor finally – painedly – brings herself to look at the console display. She sees a small amount of movement and a tiny yellow splodge disappearing into the fog, groaning at the sight.

“Damnit,” she pulls the hood of her coat up, going over to Sky, doing up the zipper of her dull white hoodie, afraid and over-compensating. “Sorry,” she says to the fourteen year-old, but Sky just watches her curiously, probably wondering what she’s going to do next. The Doctor reaches up to take her cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “Your sister, _honestly._ Gives me the fright of my life every two days.”

“Are we going after her?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor confirms, “Have to, don’t we? She’s a kid, no matter that she used to be taller. Regeneration means nothing this young.”

“What about the TARDIS?” River questions, butting in. “Can we leave her safely here, in the Death Zone? Will the Time Lords take her.”

“Probably, yeah,” the Doctor confirms, looking to Mickey. “And I have a feeling we’re going to be picking up more of the Doctor’s companions along the way. Funny how you stumbled right on us, huh?”

Mickey frowns, “Well, yeah, but this place can’t be that big, can it?”

“It’s half the size of Wales,” the Doctor says frankly. “And it’s like Lego – pieces can be moved about, according to the wants and desires of the Gamemaster. The Death Zone is the place, but out there? That’s the Game – the Game of Rassilon; and my plucky, bull-headed baby girl just walked right outside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

“This would be a _lot_ easier if you just unlocked these pesky binds.”

Currently walking through a swampland somewhat similar to the Australian mangroves, the Doctor once more has to grab onto a hanging vine so as to not be sucked into a tiny sinkhole, wobbling precariously as Missy tugs him back towards her. He overbalances, foot un-sucking from the sinkhole as he trips, back pressing up against Missy’s fleshy form.

“Oh, _Doctor,_ ” she suddenly purrs, as if one of her hands aren’t trying to sneak into his trouser pocket for the sonic screwdriver, “I didn’t realise you wanted to get so _intimate._ ”

“I don’t,” the Doctor pulls away from her, regaining his balance as he trudges further through the swamp, aiming for a nearby grassy knoll that _hopefully_ isn’t another illusion. He bats her hand away from his empty pocket, taking another careful step forwards, only to realise as soon as his foot hits open air that he’s lost his boot.

Grimacing, he manages to find a path to the grassy patch, sitting down on it with a huff. Missy soon joins him and he pulls off his hoodie at the sight of her, realising that at some point during their little trek, she’s divested herself of the majority of her clothes.

“Did the swamp steal everything you were wearing?” he asks in a grumble as she lays the offered hoodie over her mud-splattered drawers. “We don’t know where we are, what planet we’re on, how the temperature changes-”

“I’m sure you’ll be up to sharing body warmth, if it comes to that,” Missy interrupts coyly, inspecting her handcuffs once more. The Doctor eyes them as she does, too, still intrigued as to how they were clamped around her wrists without her knowledge. The fact that they’re separate wrist bands is interesting as well – though it’s interesting, because on the other hand that could mean they’re _not_ handcuffs, even if there are grooves and magnets suggesting they can turn _into_ handcuffs.

One moment Missy and the Doctor had been in the bowels of St Luke’s University debating mega-particle theory at the piano and the next, they were in this swamp – it wasn’t like they had been knocked out, although the Doctor admits that there could be an amount of lost time they aren’t registering, if time travel was involved. Whoever had kidnapped them had been very, _very_ clever about it.

“Why just you?” he questions, “Why not handcuff me, too? Objectively, I’m more dangerous than you.”

“I’m an erratic madwoman,” Missy replies with a shrug, lowering her wrists and sighing, looking up at the darkening sky. Stars they don’t recognise twinkle above. “Made any enemies lately?”

“Apart from your executioners, no,” the Doctor says solemnly. A silence falls. Time passes. The Doctor’s senses expand and across the swamp, he can see a creature swimming through the water. It could be a crab or it could be some form of aquatic predator. The Doctor doesn’t know. There haven’t been signs of larger animals like Earthen crocodiles, though it would be interesting to look at whatever is swimming over there to get a good idea of what the local heterotrophic system-

“What is that?” Missy interrupts suddenly, tensing. “Can you hear it? It’s like…”

The Doctor frowns, shutting his eyes, craning his ears to hear whatever Missy has picked up. The swamp bubbles in some places, farting out gases and heating the water to steam in hot-spots. Animals make noises and the wind rustles leaves.

 _There, though, what’s that?_ The Doctor leans to his left, hearing some kind of…cry? Not an animal cry, either, no.

“That’s a person,” Missy says, relaxing. “A child, by the pitch.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agrees, getting up again, pinpointing the direction it’s coming from. “Come on, let’s go.”

Missy makes a face. “Can’t we leave it?”

“No,” the Doctor says sternly, reaching for her hand to pull her grudgingly to her feet. He watches her pull his hoodie over her head, feeling over-exposed in just his tatty, holey black t-shirt, muddy trousers and single boot. However, considering that Missy is only in her drawers and chemise – even her corset has been abandoned somewhere behind them – it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

Once she’s ready, they begin to trek towards the sound, keeping as quiet as they can so as to keep track of the noise. When it dips out – and it does so, more than once – both the Doctor and Missy go still, making as little noise as possible, trying to find the source. Like any noise, however, the closer they get, the easier it gets to hear.

“Hello?” the Doctor calls out. The crying peters out abruptly. “Hello, can you hear me?”

“We’re not here to harm you, little mongrel,” Missy says in a tired voice. “We’re rather lost ourselves.”

The Doctor sees movement at the base of a tree less than ten metres away. Watching it, he eventually meets eyes with a little boy – girl? – with familiar brown eyes and caramel skin covered in mud and sludge. Brow furrowing, the Doctor goes to move forwards, when the child cries out.

“No! Don’t!”

“Don’t?” the Doctor looks down, seeing a shift in texture and fluidity of the mud around his feet. A feeling of foreboding rises in his chest. “You’re trapped there, aren’t you?”

The child nods tightly and now, the Doctor can actually _see_ , the dim lighting tricking his brain. The child is at the base of a grove, arms woven through a series of branches. Their shoulders are half under, already.

“How are we going to get you out, then?” the Doctor’s eyes trace around what must be quicksand. “Which way did you come from?”

“Behind me,” the child says. They sound… _very_ young.

“Great,” the Doctor says, reaching into his trouser pocket for the sonic, reaching behind him for Missy’s wrist. “Did you sink very fast? Or was it…medium?”

“Very fast,” the child says, voice cracking with upset, “Grabbed a vine, pulled.”

“Oh-ho, very clever,” the Doctor praises lightly, using the sonic on one of the bands around Missy’s wrists. It unlocks, light blinking red as the other starts beeping. He experimentally pulls the band away from Missy, detecting a faint magnetic pull that he suspects will get stronger the further away the pair does. Satisfied, he looks back to the child, who has started to visibly sag, probably exhausted, adrenaline wearing off – their appearance probably isn’t helping the child’s effort either, to be honest. “I’m going to come over to you, so stay still – hang on,” he pushes the sonic into Missy’s hand, “Throw that to me when I’m on the other side.”

“Other side- you _fool,_ you don’t know how far you’ll be able to get before you sink!” Missy hisses, grabbing at his arm. “That child looks like they’d weigh twenty pounds _soaking wet._ ”

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, before diving across, immediately feeling the _suck._ The Doctor was able to jump a third of the way and it’ll help him later, he thinks, even as he tries swimming across the top layer that’s more water than quicksand. He keeps a tight grip on the handcuff, which is buzzing now with the force of the magnetic pull. _Good_ , he thinks, even though he knows it won’t be as much help as his jump was.

“Doctor, you’re sinking.” Missy says it blankly and seriously. “Faster.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, focusing on moving. Half-way and still moving. The child is straight ahead and-

_Something is swimming through the quicksand._

It slithers around his legs, pulsing and _alive._ The Doctor questions reality, in that moment, searching through his mind to figure out if he’s heard of a creature that lives in quicksand. _Maybe it’s living quicksand,_ the Doctor thinks, trying to keep himself amused, but the thought sours everything. _I’m somewhere I don’t know, sinking into the mud. Anything is possible._

Deciding to focus on swimming, the Doctor begins to feel himself sinking into the deeper mud. Luckily, there’s a nearby vine and he pulls himself with it, chin tickling the mud. _There goes the other boot,_ he thinks, tugging himself above the quicksand using the vine, but immediately finding that his legs sink down, down, down into the space his body left behind.

The child is frightened. The Doctor can see that. “What’s your name?” he gasps as he pulls himself to the boughs of the tiny tree, which trembles under his weight. “I’m the Doctor.”

“Theta,” the child says, “my family call me Theta.”

“So did mine, before I chose my new name,” the Doctor says, smiling even as his heart pounds in his chest. The child is _so very familiar_ , this close up and they’re maybe more of a toddler than a child. Not quite school-age at least, despite their complex oral skills.

He brings the now-muddy handcuff up to the child’s bare wrist, pulling against the magnetic force to clamp it around their wrist. It shuts automatically and the child lets go of the tree, arm unwinding to sag in the direction of Missy – who is admirably holding still, across the quicksand.

The Doctor looks back at her, meeting eyes with her. Missy’s eyes glint and he knows she figured out his plan as soon as he went for her handcuff. She throws the sonic across and the Doctor barely manages to catch it, the blue and silver device nearly slipping through his fingers. She trudges backwards, the pull on the child’s wrist increasing enough that he whines. Missy grabs onto a nearby tree, wiggling it a little before nodding staunchly. The Doctor looks back to the child, Theta.

“Okay, now, I’m going to increase the force that is pulling your arm,” he says, flexing his arms, lips dipping underwater as he moves his head. “But I’m going to have to grab onto you first. We might go under for a few moments, but don’t be scared and hold your breath, okay?”

“Okay,” the child says, shaky, eyes teary. The Doctor smiles, trying to keep his spirits up.

“Hey, what are the tears for? We’re going to be fine! Trust me, I’m the Doctor.”

“Mother says not to trust strangers,” Theta gulps nervously. “Just for a second?”

“No more than two,” the Doctor says, before manoeuvring himself. The sonic is thrust between his ring finger and pinkie, the rest of his hand busy holding him up with the branch. His now-free hand moves under the mud, under Theta’s underarm to wrap around his torso. “Let go now,” he orders, Theta reaching with his other arm to wrap around the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor contains his grunt at the extra weight on him, the single bough quaking and creaking ominously. “On three. One…two… _three!_ ”

The Doctor let’s go, getting the sonic into his hand properly. His face sinks into the water, other arm reaching straight up. He moves it around, using the last of his sight to find Theta’s handcuffed wrist, then closing his eyes, using the telepathic circuit in the screwdriver to adjust the controls. Then, he boosts the magnetic connection between the handcuffs, feeling Theta begin to get pulled towards Missy.

 _Here we go,_ he thinks, before increasing his grip and the magnetic connection. The handcuff drags them through the quicksand and he wonders, in the midst of it, how Missy’s doing against the force. _Don’t fall over,_ he advises her in his head.

The angle of their being-dragged changes as they hit a bank and the Doctor breaches the surface. He breathes in deep, pushing Theta up and onto the ground, Missy rolling her eyes as she gets all muddy while helping. The Doctor’s surprised she helps at all, but finds himself distracted by the curling of creatures around his legs.

“Missy!” he yelps, his best enemy dropping the poor child into the mud. She grabs him just in time to stop the creature from pulling him back under the mud, hauling him up onto the bank instead, Theta still attached to her wrist by the magnetised handcuffs. There’s still something wrapped around the Doctor’s legs though and he uses his screwdriver to send a sonic wave that makes it shriek.

Quick as he can, he once again adjusts the frequency – the purple, eel-like creature flopping to the ground unconscious.

“What in Gallifrey’s name is that thing?” Missy’s lip curls as she drops him onto the ground, before she prods it with a still-booted toe. The Doctor frowns. _Why does she get to keep her boots?_ “Looks like some kind of snake.”

“Indigenous species, maybe?” Theta offers in a fragile whisper. The Doctor looks over at their new companion, having a sense of déjà vu. Time swirls around them and it feels like, it feels…

“ _Thetatropolousvsgholtazsr Sigmakronosvexsthkada_ ,” he says, the words falling off his tongue as if he were introducing himself rather than naming the young Time Tot in front of them in full, “of House Lungbarrow, known as Theta Sigma.”

Missy jerks, twisting to stare at the child, “Is it? But this is…so _extremely_ unlikely, Doctor. It _can’t_ be you.”

The young, _young_ version of the Doctor looks between the two Time Lords, who stare at them with surprise and recognition. “You know me?”

“Yes,” the Doctor says, voice slightly strangled as he sits up, unwinding the creature from around his legs. “You’re me, a very young version of me. The youngest version of myself that I’ve ever seen before – and I’ve seen my first face.”

“I am my own first face,” Theta argues, frowning deeply. “Do you mean our second?”

 _Kids,_ the Doctor thinks, baffled at how accepting Theta is of their situation. _He can’t be older than twenty-five_ “No, I mean you, when you’re all grown up and settled. There was some nasty business in the Death Zone…”

“This is a flashback and a half,” Missy mutters, only half to herself. “I’ve not seen you this young since _I_ was this young.”

“…do I know you?” Theta questions hesitantly, shivering slightly, arm wrapping around their soaked and muddy torso.

Missy gives the Time Tot a flash of nervous smile. “Koschei Maxtus, all grown up.”

“Really?” Theta questions, eyes going wide, astonished. “But you were going to run away! You said I’d never see you again after we left the Academy!”

“A pipe dream,” Missy smirks slightly, glancing at the Doctor. “Right, m’dear?”

“Indeed,” the Doctor hauls himself to his feet, using the sonic to de-magnetise the handcuffs. He doesn’t remove them, though, just in case, watching Theta and Missy’s wrists separate. “Theta, do you happen to know where we are?”

“No, sir.”

“ _Sir?_ ” the Doctor makes a face, “Doctor is fine.”

“No, physician,” Theta raises his chin ever-so slightly, smirking, a soggy wave of dark blonde flopping over their nose. The Doctor’s eye twitches.

“Right. You’re a cheeky bugger, aren’t you? Should have expected this, to be honest.” The Doctor sighs, looking around. “Have you been outside this swamp?”

“I appeared on a road, actually,” Theta says, pointing to the other side of the quicksand. “That way. It was made from strange blue bricks.”

“Was it night?” Missy questions.

Theta shakes his head. “Sundown. I’ve been here for hours and hours, Miss Koschei.”

“Missy is her taken name,” the Doctor sends a warning glance at her, the Mistress raising her hands in faux-innocence. “Though I won’t stop you from calling her _Koschei_. Just don’t do it if there are other people around. Gallifreyans are safe being called their family names on Gallifrey, but not out in the open universe, not really.”

“I thought that was just our True Names,” Theta questions, perplexed and failing to cover his following yawn. The Doctor shrugs.

“Either or. Family names are drawn from our real ones anyway, aren’t they? Numbers, symbolism,” the Doctor reaches over, picking the young boy up and swinging him onto his back. Theta startles, obviously confused at the motion – which he has a right to be, seeing as the Doctor can’t remember anyone ever giving him a piggy-back ride as a child. “We can either talk or you can sleep.”

“…I’ll sleep, if that’s acceptable,” Theta mumbles, before resting his head gently on the Doctor’s shoulder, arms locking around his neck. It’s uncomfortable for the Doctor, but the alternative is carrying him in his arms and that would get tiring rather quickly. “Good night, Doctor Me, Miss Koschei.”

 _Doctor Me?_ The Doctor raises an eyebrow, adjusting his hold on Theta. “Have a nice sleep, Theta,” he says goodnight, Missy staying quiet as they begin to make their way around the quicksand.

He thinks it strange that his younger self is here- no. _No_. No, the Doctor thinks it’s _dangerous_ that his younger self is here. If anything happens to Theta Sigma…it makes him queasy to imagine. The implications are catastrophic enough to _think_ about, let alone list in his head. The Doctor did his part in saving the universe more than a dozen different times over the century and the Time War – the Doctor wasn’t called _the Oncoming Storm_ or _the Beast_ for nothing. There’s a reason that his future regeneration of _the Valeyard_ is to be feared, too, if the Doctor is like this while doing _good._

 _The weight of the universe shouldn’t rest on the shoulders of a Time Tot, let alone multiple times,_ the Doctor thinks, practically tasting the disgust that wells up inside of him, ignoring how the responsibility did, _had_ fallen on his shoulders.

“We have to protect him,” he mumbles, not sure or not whether Theta is awake. He’s snoring softly, so maybe not, but Missy gives him a warning look even as she gives an agreeing tilt of her head, the two of them finally bypassing the quicksand. It takes another half an hour for them to find the edge of the swamp, which abruptly stops at the blue road Theta mentioned.

“That’s odd,” Missy climbs up onto it turning to the Doctor and holding out her arms. “Give me the sprog. My turn.”

“Just until I get up there,” he says, moving so Missy can peel the monkey-like Time Tot from his back. Burden relieved, the Doctor climbs up onto the blue road, intrigued by why the cobbles are such a curious shade of navy. It reminds him of the TARDIS. “We should find a lake or something, to get the mud off. Maybe civilisation.”

Missy is looking up at the sky. “I don’t think we’ll need to bother with any of that. Civilisation might be a good idea though, depending on how big that lightning storm will turn into.”

The Doctor follows her gaze, seeing the dark purple clouds forming, thunder booming very close, but without a repeat. Up in said purple clouds, he can see red lightning.

“That doesn’t look good,” he agrees, turning in a circle, taking in their surroundings. It’s all rather strange, now he has some perspective. The swampland behind them, he can see a large stretch of dreary safari with natural dips and pools, probably just waiting for a stormy season. But past that, he can see forest and strangely, everything looks…square.

Even the mountain ranges, far off in the distance, are all different. One is all snowy peaks and what looks like a blizzard and the next range next to it is a separate brand of mountain entirely, with rolling hills and waterfalls. The Doctor moves forwards, craning to see the land past the swampland and what he sees?

It’s sand.

“Either we’re in a simulated environment, a theme park or the most hostile and varied planet I’ve ever seen,” the Doctor says, eyes still fixed on the sand dunes in the distance, moonlight glistening off the sand-storm that’s lifted off near the grassy hillside. “Where _are_ we?”

“Who knows, but we need to find shelter,” Missy says. “I’d say go this way.” She points away from the sand dunes, down past the storm.

“We’d be heading into it, if we went that way,” the Doctor replies, but Missy doesn’t give him a chance to argue as she starts walking away, his younger self asleep on her back. “Hey!”

“Come along, Doctor!” Missy says in a sing-song voice, “Freedom tastes good, by the way!”

The Doctor growls, catching up to her, grumpily walking beside her. He crosses his arms, sonic still in hand, unable to hide them away in his pockets like usual because Missy is wearing his jumper. The blue cobble road is warm underneath his muddy feet – one good thing in a whole heap of bad. He looks up at the stars again, trying to find one constellation, _one_ familiar pattern, but the clouds are rolling across and he can feel the faint splatters of rain falling from the heavens.

Only when his skin starts to burn where the rain falls does he realise they might not be out of the woods yet.

“Acid rain,” he says, looking around, trying to find _any_ shelter. Missy makes an irritated noise, hissing.

“Of _course_ it is,” she mutters darkly, before jerking her head forwards. “If we can scram towards those rocks, we could find shelter.”

“Good idea,” the Doctor praises, before starting to jog rather than walk. Missy raises him: running.

By the time they reach the rocks, Theta is awake again and running themselves, face screwed up as they try and fail to ignore their burning skin. The three Gallifreyan’s scrounge around, each finding a crevice to hide in, all able to see each other from where they try keeping out of the rain.

“How long do you think this will last?” Theta questions, “I want to go home.”

“I don’t know how long it’ll last, but what I do know is that so long as we stick together, we can figure out how to stay safe,” the Doctor tells his younger self. “Also, unless the Time Lords are being extra manipulative, we at least know that _you_ will live. You have to, to come here twice.”

“Thanks, that doesn’t worry me at _all_ ,” Theta replies sarcastically, before closing his arms over his chest, the handcuff blinking green in the gloom. “I’m worried about you and Miss Koschei.”

“I’m not dying here,” Missy says in an annoyed fashion. “Don’t worry your little Time Tot head about me, Theta Sigma. I can survive anything the universe throws at me – to the point of disbelief.”

“She’s telling the truth,” the Doctor says, shaking his head. “There are some fantastic things she’s done, in the past. Horrible things, amazing feats of science – the impossible has and will happen again to her.”

“Dearie, you flatter me,” Missy purrs, before a quiet falls.

The Doctor himself begins to think of his best enemy with a certain bitter fondness. The Master always crawls out from whatever hole they’re hiding in, when the world ends. It makes the Doctor nostalgic for a simpler time – when simply knocking the Master out foiled his plans, rather than killing him in an attempt to stop him and then waiting until the inevitable, for someone all-powerful and more than likely, evil, to resurrect his friend for their own purposes.

 _Purposes that would be warped or plainly discarded,_ the Doctor thinks, remember a Master that used his botched resurrection to blast Rassilon back through the Gate upon learning he was being used and cast aside, now that his ‘purpose’ was fulfilled. _Gallifrey’s most infamous child, indeed._

The Master is the only one, in retrospect, who has a modicum of control over the Doctor. His companions, of course, are the same, but there’s a gap – there’s no shared history or knowledge of a lost people that have been placed at the end of the universe. The Master and the Doctor – a pair of rebels that know each other better than they know themselves. Theta Sigma and Koschei Maxtus.

“Not to be a downer,” he says, out loud, “but I really hope your younger self isn’t here, too.”

Missy grimaces. “Me too.”

“Would it be _so_ bad if he were?” Theta questions.

“Depends how old they are,” the Doctor says wearily. “But in general, it’s never a good idea to have two Masters in the same room.”

There’s a moment, before the Doctor realises what he just said, Theta’s faced screwing up in confusion.

“Masters? But _you_ said that her taken name was Missy!” Theta accuses, shifting under their rock to look at her. “What is your taken name?”

Missy hesitates before she answers, the pause raising the tension several notches. _I’d forgotten how hot-headed I was as a child,_ the Doctor thinks.

“The Master, or, well…the Mistress, like this. Missy for short. I rather enjoy living like this.”

“Good for you,” Theta says sharply, even though he’s steaming with sudden, child-like rage. “You _lied_ to me, Doctor. I don’t want to be a liar when I grow up!”

“You’re already a liar,” the Doctor frowns deeply, “so don’t try that with me. Lying for good reasons is acceptable, sometimes, too.”

“Don’t care,” Theta growls and the Doctor is embarrassed by it. _Growling? Like an animal?_ “Go away.”

“Can’t exactly do that in an acid rainstorm,” he replies sarcastically, before thunder begins to boom in earnest and lightning crackles red across the purple sky. Anything Missy or Theta might want to say to him wouldn’t reach him, the sounds above too loud and pressing.

To his own surprise, though, the storm lulls him to sleep. He only wakes up the next morning, when a beam of red sunlight shines a little too long on his face. The Doctor crawls out of his crevice, finding Theta likewise snoring away. Missy is lying out in the open air, however, lounging topless on top of a rock like a cat.

“I figured out where we are,” she says casually, relaxed beyond belief. The Doctor grunts, gently pulling Theta out of their rock crevice, waking them up, trying to avoid looking up at the sky where two suns shine. They blink sleepily and the Doctor stays quiet as he picks the Time Tot up, resting them on his hip. “Do you want to know?” Missy questions.

“Sure,” the Doctor says.

“Look over there,” she instructs, pointing over an outcropping of rocks that likely, she can only see over because of how she’s so high up. The Doctor, in answer, finds an easy way to climb up one-handed, keeping Theta balanced on his hip as he joins her, avoiding looking at her bared chest.

“What am I looking for?” he asks her, before requesting, “Put a shirt on.”

“As you wish, honey-pie,” Missy coos. As he scans the horizon, she dresses and no sooner does she put on her shift, does the Doctor find what she asked him to look for.

“The Dark Tower,” he murmurs, not quite surprised – it makes sense, considering the suns of Gallifrey that lie overhead, turning the sky orange. “We’re in the Death Zone.”

“Yup,” Missy tugs on her boots, lacing them tightly. “Let’s go there. We’ve been here before, _Doc_ , it can’t be too hard to find whoever else has been sucked up by the Time Lords. Though, being immortal sounds fun, if you want to let me go off on my own.”

The Doctor startles, letting out a short bark of laughter. “I forgot. You were unconscious, weren’t you? The good old Brig knocked you unconscious. President Borusa – when he kidnapped my past selves and my companions, it was a diversion so he could get immortality from Rassilon. It was more than he was prepared for, however.”

Missy narrows her eyes. “What happened?”

The Doctor grins, “How do you like the idea of being encased in stone for all eternity?”

“Encased in stone?” Theta repeats in an offended voice, “That’s very rude! How misleading!”

The Doctor glances at his younger self. “You’re a mix of too much cheek and too much swallowing of a dictionary.”

“Blame Koschei, he’s the one who learnt all the big words,” Theta shrugs. The Doctor looks at Missy, who raises her hands in faux-innocence. “So, are we going to that big tower?”

“…yes,” the Doctor finally states, nodding. He looks over the terrain between them and the Dark Tower, the Tomb of Rassilon that he knows is protected by many traps and tricks. He can remember seeing illusions of Zoe and Jaime, of being kidnapped by Borusa, of figuring out the puzzle corridor and using a wire to bypass the challenges completely. _My first face has been here a lot, now,_ he thinks in amusement, eyeing Theta as he looks out into the distance, oblivious to the burning suns – probably not even caring.

Theta hasn’t ever seen another sky before.

The Doctor though, he is already sweating. It’s been too long since he’s been home to Gallifrey, even considering the short period he was there to help his other faces send Gallifrey into a bubble of protected time. This is different from just popping in and out of his TARDIS. The Doctor has gotten too used to the mundanity of Earth. Even the air is thinner here and his lungs are working hard. Once, the air on Earth felt so special to breathe in – it made him feel strange and it made Earth even more alien to _him_.

“Think we’re going to meet some people there?” Missy questions, before – to the Doctor’s surprise – Theta replies, instead of letting him get a word in.

“I think we’re going to be saying hello to some people very soon, actually. Look – there’s people right there.”

Theta points to the West, near the edge of the mountains, where a small band of people are moving towards the Tower. The Doctor’s heart leaps, even though he can’t tell who or what they are, from this far away. _People. People means answers. Why are we here? Who else has been brought with us? Why did they take me so early in my timeline?_

“It’ll take us running to intercept them, unless they see us,” Missy says, narrowed eyes trained on the group.

“Let’s hope they don’t think we’re predators,” the Doctor jokes, before shifting Theta onto his back. “You okay back there, or do you want to walk?”

“No-one has ever lifted me up like this. I suppose it is…acceptable that you do so. It is hardly inappropriate if this is the sort of thing I will do in the future, after all,” Theta nods.

“You just want to be carried.”

“Yes, I do.”

The Doctor grins. “In less than four hundred years, you’ll be doing this with Time Tots younger than you are.”

“Spoilers, Doctor,” Missy reminds, before they begin making their way off the rocks, away from their hiding places. As they leave, the Doctor catches her brushing her daughter’s pendant and a spasm of sudden pain rocks through his heart.

 _We couldn’t save her,_ he thinks, looking away, thinking of too many of his children who died in the Time War – how many of his grandchildren were lost to orphanages and rescue centres, if they didn’t die in blaster-fire. _Missy’s daughter died in front of her, in front of **us**._ There had been nothing either of them could do.

“Am I going to have a family, one day?”

“Many families,” the Doctor answers Theta’s innocent question. “Both on Gallifrey and away from it. You’ll be married a few times and each of your partners, you’ll love very much – except the few you get married to by accident. Cultural misunderstandings gone too far. Your children will be beautiful and you will adore your grandchildren more than you can comprehend. Then, when you’re older still, you’ll make new families out of friends, who become sisters, brothers, girlfriends, wives-”

“Not husbands?”

“Oh, there have been a few,” the Doctor admits freely. “More boyfriends than husbands, though. Women are easier to connect to, outside of Gallifrey – human women, at least. We have a penchant for humans.”

Theta grimaces. “I can’t imagine ever liking or even _loving_ someone not Gallifreyan. I understand that sounds strange, but we’re Time Lords – who lives as long as we do? What species’ are even compatible with our biology?”

“Another reason to like humans,” Missy smirks. “They’re _oh_ -so flexible, when it comes to boundaries.”

“Missy,” the Doctor warns in a wry tone. “Young ears.”

“He’ll forget this later, anyway,” Missy brushes it off.

“Young ears,” he repeats. The Doctor then climbs down the ridge, Theta still on his back and Missy still wearing his hoodie. “To the Tomb of Rassilon, here we go!”


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

He blames it on his most recent visit to Mexico, where he had to run away from Chinese-Mexican cowboys with nun-chucks. Well, sort of nun-chucks. Alien nun-chucks. Well, stolen alien nun-chucks that had fallen through a hole in time and found themselves in the hands of Chinese-Mexican cowboys- _anyway_! The poncho had been a _very necessary accessory._ Aesthetic alone was a good reason to wear it. However, from the look that his new friend Clara is giving him, the Doctor feels like defending his poncho for other reasons, now.

“It’s not that cold and Anthony probably needs it more than you, considering the shirt he’s wearing,” Clara says, crossing her arms, looking at him like he’s a misbehaving child. The Doctor cowers slightly under the look, glancing at Anthony Williams, an old man who claims to be the future son of Amy Pond and Rory the Roman. He’s only wearing shorts and a thin Hawaiian shirt clearly meant for sunnier days. “Doctor, _lose the poncho._ ”

“No,” the Doctor denies, crossing his arms.

“It’s the poncho or that beanie,” Clara threatens, arms uncrossing slowly, fingers separate in a ready-to-grab motion. The Doctor, making a very quick decision, throws his TARDIS-blue hat at her. Clara catches it with a surprising show of reflexes, glancing down at it briefly before passing it gently over to Ashildr, putting it on her partially-shaved head, tugging down the short brown curls over her forehead so they aren’t caught under the hat. Her touch is gentle and slow, Ashildr rolling her eyes but still smiling ever-so-slightly.

The Doctor feels bad about it, but the beanie actually looks better on the woman and he gets to keep his poncho, this way – now he just wishes he has a Stetson. He likes Stetsons.

“So,” Clara straightens, “you were saying?”

“Ah!” the Doctor straightens, twisting around to point at the Tomb of Rassilon. “Yes! Big, scary tower off in the distance – well, it’s a tomb, or a mausoleum. Actually, some people debate whether Rassilon’s remains are actually inside it, so maybe it’s just his big, showing-off tower. Time Lords _love_ showing off, trust me.”

“I trust you,” Clara says amusedly, walking by his side. “And you’re saying it’s the safest place here?”

“It’s a deadly arena, like the Hunger Games, except not children and more alien. The Time Lords used to watch people die and kill each other in here, before it was outlawed. Some Presidents brought it back, of course, I was even involved the last time. Five versions of me in the one room!” The Doctor shakes his head, straightening his bow-tie. “A nightmare, honestly. We kept insulting each other.”

Clara chuckles. “If you’re all so arrogant, I would see why.”

“Well,” the Doctor’s lip twitches, before he shakes his head. “Yes, the safest place to be, considering the rest of it. We just have to get past the security measures. Shouldn’t be too difficult – you have me.”

“And Ashildr,” Clara adds, “and me. No offence, Anthony.”

The old man shakes his head, smiling in bemusement as they make their way towards the tower. The Doctor studies him for a few moments, wondering why he’s so quiet. _Spoilers, maybe._ It’s rare that companions get to leave and start families, after their time with him. It’s safer if Anthony doesn’t tell him a single thing.

“What about you, Luke?” the Doctor addresses the final member of their group, “You’re a genius!”

Luke Smith, Sarah-Jane’s son – the Doctor first met him on the Subwave Network, when Davros was going to rend the universe to atoms with his Reality Bomb. Luke, however, is quiet like Anthony. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s older – the Doctor knows that something is wrong and he _itches_ to find out.

“Not clever enough,” Luke replies with a half-hearted shrug. The Doctor backtracks, coming to walk beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulder in comfort.

“What happened, Luke?” he questions gently, quietly so the others can’t hear. “You’re not yourself.”

“Didn’t you hear, Doctor?” Luke asks in return. “My mum’s dead.”

At first, there’s nothing, the words processing. Then, it’s like his hearts are being torn from his chest and the Doctor shakes. In his head, a man with a brown hat and a multicoloured scarf falls to the ground and a curly-haired UNIT investigator in a velvet coat gasps _no_ over and over.

“Sarah,” the Doctor in the bow-tie and poncho whispers, hand scrabbling over his chest, trying to stop the metaphorical bleeding of his heart. “How- how did she die?”

“Cancer. Mr Smith caught on when he had to scan her this one time, to check for the remains of a mutated alien plant in the air. I nearly died from it, once and we wanted to make sure the new version was all gone.” Luke pauses, fists clenching in his pockets as he looks at the ground, kicking a stray rock. “He found it in her lungs. Stage two. She didn’t make it. Me- me and my sister, Sky, we’re separated now. She was adopted.”

“Luke,” the Doctor despairs, not sure how to help him, “I can find her for you. I can- I can reunite you.”

“It’s alright,” Luke says, “I mean, it’s _not_ , but- but Sky is happy. She’s safe. She’s with a future version of you, Doctor – _you’re_ looking after her, Doctor.”

… _what?_ The Doctor slips his arm off Luke’s shoulder. “Well that’s- that’s…” he struggles to find the words. He looks forwards, eyes locking on Clara’s back. It’s strange though – even as he tries to think of words to say to Luke about Sarah, the Doctor notices something odd.

“Luke,” he mumbles, “sorry to change the subject but- but look at Clara and tell me if there’s anything…weird, that you notice.”

Luke, frowning but distracted, looks up. He focuses on the petite brunette, who curls her arm around Ashildr’s waist as they trudge through the heathery moor. The Doctor _knows_ something isn’t quite right.

“There’s something,” Luke says, obviously perplexed. “But I can’t…”

“Neither can I,” the Doctor admits, before the previously silent Anthony speaks up, voice loud.

“Miss Oswald,” the American addresses her and by _god_ , that is a thick Brooklyn accent. It obviously bamboozles Luke, who immediately begins staring at Anthony in that awestruck _what is that_ way. “Are you human?”

Clara glances back at him, lips curling. “Now that would be telling.” She winks, Ashildr snorting in amusement before the two women fall silent, helping each other over a stile. The Doctor shares a look with Anthony, before Luke climbs over too, followed by the Doctor and then Anthony, who is offered a helping hand by the teen from Bannerman Road.

They walk for a while. Luke kicks another rock. The Tower doesn’t get any closer. Off in the distance, the Doctor sees an avalanche on a snowy mountain-top. They climb over another stile. Luke kicks another rock.

Only when they climb over another stile does the Doctor start paying attention to where they’re walking.

Luke kicks another rock. The Doctor stares at the rock as he walks, memorising its curvature and weight as well as the propulsion needed for it to move. His eyes flit around and around and when they come to the stile, Ashildr huffs and sits on the wall, instead.

“We’re in a time loop,” she says, annoyed and grouchy. Clara pauses, straddling the stile and then sitting down on the damp wood, fixing the red skirt of her dress.

“Huh. Right. Never been in one of these before – Doctor, how do you break a time loop?” Clara questions him, reaching down to fiddle with her boot as she waits for him to answer.

“You’re clever,” the Doctor says at Ashildr, shuffling over to stand beside Clara, picking up a nearby rock. “Time loops. First thing to check is whether it’s a localised time loop or a universal loop. Considering the situation, it’s unlikely to be a universal loop, unless that explains why all of us are together – different people from my timeline, past _and_ future.” The Doctor shakes his head, scratching a line in the stile near Clara’s knee.

“What are you doing?” Andrew questions.

Luke speaks, before the Doctor can give a long, rambling explanation that would be completely appropriate for the situation. “We’re going to walk it again, aren’t we? You’re making a mark to see if it’s there when we get back.”

The Doctor twirls his wrist before pointing at the young man. “Correct! Ten points to the Smiths!” He looks at Andrew, “The Pond’s aren’t doing so well, right now,” he twirls to point at Clara and Ashildr, “and the Oswald’s have minus points for figuring it out before I did!”

Ashildr narrows her eyes, “We’re not Hogwarts houses. Also, we’re not married.”

“You should be,” Andrew mutters out of human hearing range, an odd – if true – statement, from a man wearing a cut of shirt more fashionable in the nineties than the twenty-first century.

The Doctor’s lip twitches, “You could have fooled me, _Mrs Oswald._ ”

“Doctor,” Clara addresses him, obviously flustered, her cheeks red, “What will we do if we come back and it’s here?”

“Well, obviously, the mark still _being_ here,” the Doctor explains, “means that we’re in a temporal hotspot of sorts – a place where time zig-zags. We’d just need to go another direction.”

“And if it’s not there when we get back?” Ashildr questions.

The Doctor’s face falls. “Then we’re trapped in a time loop. Hotspots are easy to get out of, but _time loops…_ you have to break them. Trick them. Cure them. We’d need to find the source or do something intelligent.”

“Great,” Clara says, chipper, swinging her leg over the stile. “Let’s go then.”

“Yes!” The Doctor agrees, before moving to help Andrew over the wooden contraption. “Come along, Pond.”

Andrew chuckles. “I never actually thought you said that. God on high, I _never_ thought I’d hear it directed at _me._ ”

“Now-now, Pond,” the Doctor grins at the old man, “why-ever would you think that? I’m a time traveller! Aren’t you?”

Andrew shrugs genially, “Not really. This is the first time I’ve left my own planet or time period.”

The Doctor’s hearts dip. _Oh. Right._ “I suppose your parents couldn’t travel with me forever. Still,” he moves onwards, eyes pinpointing Luke’s footie-rock up ahead. Same colours, same curvature. He looks behind – the stile is right there. Was it always behind the rock, rather than in front of it? “I find it surprising that River never popped in to give her baby brother a tour of the universe.”

“I’ve met her just once,” Andrew admits, confusing the Doctor. “Father’s day. We visited our grandfather. It was rather odd…”

“How?” the Doctor questions, hearing him trail off.

Then, Andrew gives him a surprisingly familiar smile, eyes twinkling as the corner of his lip curls up, just like River’s. “I hear the word _spoilers_ is one you’re very familiar with, Doctor.”

“Spoilers, _bah._ I’m near the end of my natural lifetime, not many spoilers left,” the Doctor straightens his bowtie, making sure his poncho doesn’t ride up to cover it over. “Come on, tell your brother-in-law, eh?”

Andrew gives him a flat look more reminiscent of Amy, now. “No, Doctor. You’re not allowed to use tentative familial relation to know your own future.”

The Doctor frowns, standing straighter, muttering. “The face is Amy, but the words are all Rory.”

Andrew smirks like River again. “Thank-you. They raised me well.”

“They raised you to be full of spoilers, like your sister,” the Doctor grumbles, nearly tripping over a bush of heather. “Did you have space hair, too, Earth boy?”

“No, though I had these _awesome_ ginger curls when I was younger,” Andrew brags, the Doctor unable to contain the wounded sound that escapes his throat. Andrew laughs. “You’re _just_ like their stories.”

“Why is _everyone else_ ginger?” the Doctor bemoans _life_ and _the universe._ “Why can’t I ever be ginger? I’ve had a potluck of regenerations my entire life – why were they all blonde and brunette?”

“Because you don’t need to be ginger to be exciting,” Clara says, before Luke jogs forwards to where the stile waits in the distance. Everyone else hurries to join him, grinning at the sight of the mark left from the Doctor’s meddling.

“All we do is go another way,” the Doctor rubs his hands together, pointing West. “Let’s go that way!”

“No complaints from me,” Luke says, before straightening, walking along the wall, glancing back when Ashildr climbs up on top of it. She walks without fear, though she does wobble occasionally. The Doctor steps forwards, wanting to do the same, but Clara puts a hand on his chest, making him jolt at the feeling of _pure time_ spinning around her like a nebula. He can hardly breathe or concentrate on the words she says as all his senses focus on the feeling of _time._

“Bad idea, trust me. I don’t know how young you are, but this body of yours is clumsy as hell. I don’t trust you not to break your neck if you fell.”

“…rude,” the Doctor eventually replies, pulling away from that _time-nebula-time-time-complex-event-in-time-and-space-_ “I wouldn’t fall.”

Clara rolls her eyes, hand dropping back to her side. “Of course you would. Don’t try denying it – your balance is _atrocious._ ”

“Right.” The Doctor eyes her. Clara Oswald is old and she positively stinks of the Vortex. The Doctor wishes he had his blue and red specs, now – the ones he used when he wore sandshoes. Then, maybe he’d get to see what kind of energy sticks to her.

The group walks forwards and the Doctor is briefly left behind, Anthony casually walking beside him, chuffing his shoulder to get him moving.

“What’s up with her?”

“…she’s special,” the Doctor murmurs. “I’m working on it.”

“Well, work and walk, Doc,” Anthony says and the two elders trudge alongside the wall, quiet as they watch Ashildr walk the top of the wall, Clara questioning Luke about his life in Ealing. Anthony straightens when he hears that Luke was grown by the Bane.

“Bubble Shock,” the Doctor whispers conspiratorially, “An energy drink made by aliens. Sarah told me all about it – two percent of the human race was immune to its effects. It was supposed to convert them, when the time came. So, the Bane created the Archetype human: Luke. The day he woke up, he looked fourteen years old.” The Doctor raises his voice, questioning, “Luke! How old are you?”

Luke glances back, “Nineteen.”

The Doctor grins, “More like five, then.”

Luke groans, “Doctor, _please_. I get enough of that from Maria.”

“Maria – that was the girl who found you, right?” the Doctor remembers, “Your first friend – your first face.”

“Yeah,” Luke nods.

“My first face was your mum,” the Doctor says to Anthony fondly, “Amelia Pond.”

“First face?” Anthony queries.

“The Doctor can regenerate,” Clara says from in front of them, “When he’s mortally wounded or terribly old, all the cells in his body regenerate and he gets a new body and personality. This is his thirteenth regeneration, or eleventh, if you ask him.”

The Doctor’s gut swirls in horror. “How do you know that? How do you know this is my thirteenth?” Clara glances back at him passively and the Doctor can’t take it. “Who are you?” he questions crossly.

“We can’t tell you, Doctor,” Ashildr says from on top of the wall, looking back at him. “We’re from your personal future. When this adventure is over, you must forget. Even now, you’re curious about Clara, you know our names and are even aware of your own personal future. Luke – you should never have told him about your sister. That was irresponsible of you.”

“He’s five,” Clara scolds gently.

“He’s not a real human,” Ashildr argues, “and if he wants to say he’s nineteen, then he has to act that old.”

Clara snorts, “Coming from the immortal teenager.”

“Shut up,” Ashildr snaps, eyes glinting, “I have every right to be bitter.”

“Yes, you do,” Clara says, reaching up to take Ashildr’s hand, “Come down.”

Ashildr mutters, “Don’t use your English teacher voice on me…” but she does come down, feet hitting the wet grass with a _squelch._ “I think I saw a road, up there.”

“Really? Where?” Clara questions, peering over the wall. “That dark line?”

“I think so,” Ashildr murmurs as the guys look, too. Indeed, there is a road. The Doctor thinks it looks vaguely blue, but he could be wrong. What _he_ finds interesting, however, is not the road. It’s both the immortal teenager comment and the three travellers walking up said road.

 _People_ , he thinks. _Who could they be? Other prisoners?_ The Death Zone is a prison and everyone inside is a prisoner, there’s no doubt about that. Those people could be enemies, too – unless this was another Borusa incident, where he was going to be meeting some past faces of his. But why? Why again? They can’t be searching for immortality. Certainly, the Doctor remembers the story of his quintuple flight from the Death Zone becoming spread around after his fifth face escaped.

He glances at Ashildr. Certainly, she looks young – but he hadn’t guessed _teenager._ He wouldn’t have guessed _immortal teenager_ , either, though, so the Doctor supposes his brain’s being a little funny today. Clara still looks strange, after all.

When they get to the road, the other people are nearly in view. The Doctor finds himself excited at the prospect of new people, even as he ponders his new friends. He hurries his steps, joining Luke at the front of he procession, Clara and Ashildr falling back to stand with Anthony. The road is a dark navy that sparkles slightly in the sunlight, made from cobbles. The Doctor wonders what it’s made from – if it’s just a design flaw in the Time Lords’ chessboard that is the Death Zone or if it’s something he’s simply not seen before.

The people, as the get closer, become more defined. Clearly, one is a child. They hold the hand of what looks like a man, who wears socks but no shoes and from a distance, his hair looks crusted. The child is similarly crusted, their whole body the same colour, face and all. By their side is a woman in a white chemise and stained drawers, dark boots laced up around her shins. A pendant reflects the sun and a thick bracelet flashes a green light in the distance.

“Clara,” Ashildr says, voice urgent. “Is that who I think it is?”

The Doctor’s head whips around, focusing on the two women. Clara looks caught halfway between guilt and joy. Ashildr just looks alarmed.

“Who?” he questions.

Clara’s eyes meet his. “You won’t remember this, not when we finally meet them. This entire adventure will fade from your mind to protect your future.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows. “What? How?” he looks back to the figures and the child waves, tugging the adult forth and the Doctor gets a good look at him now. Staunch, old – alarmed, just like Ashildr, except the man is looking at _him._

“What are you doing here?” the man barks, Scottish accent thicker than Amy’s and his eyebrows like an independent country. “Oh, this is just _fantastic._ ” The man’s tone is scathing and he scowls crossly, even as the woman giggles into her hands, blue eyes locked squarely on Clara.

“Oh, it’s the puppy,” the woman delights, stepping forwards in a predatory manner, drifting past the Doctor to wrap her hands over Clara’s cheeks. “I should snap your neck for fiddling with that memory wipe.”

“You wouldn’t and you can’t, anyway,” Clara says, “It doesn’t work.”

“For long,” the woman adds, before- _before-_

The Doctor splutters at the same time the old man with the child does – the child themselves squeaking, immediately hissing out words.

“Koschei! That’s not appropriate behaviour!”

As the Doctor absorbs the word _Koschei_ , the woman kisses Clara, leaning her back and breaking her grip around Ashildr’s waist, the other woman stumbling away, looking dismayed and angry as hell. The Doctor doesn’t take the moment to give a guess why, too wrapped up in the fact that the child had _called this woman Koschei._

“Master?” he blurts out, ignoring the odd looks he gets as the woman – Koschei? The _Master?_ – and Clara separate violently, the shorter of the two roughly pushing the Master away.

“I go by Missy, these days, bowtie,” the Master – _Missy_ – drawls. “ _The Mistress_ doesn’t have the same effect as _the Master_. Who is this one?” She focuses on Luke suddenly, scrutinising him. “Your brain is giving off the effect of over ten thousand petty humans. It’s batting the outside of my shields like a moth.”

“Uh,” Luke looks to the Doctor for help.

“Get away from him,” the Doctor orders her, not taking his eyes off of her. Missy chuckles, but puts her hands up, moving back towards her companions – but not before she ruffles his hair. The Doctor bats her hand away. She laughs louder. The Doctor looks to the man and child. “Who are you? How did you all end up here?”

The Scottish man looks at him grimly. “Kidnap. We found this rapscallion drowning in a bog,” he shakes the hand of the mud-covered child. “I rescued him.”

“My name is Theta Sigma of the House of Lungbarrow,” the child introduces, to the Doctor’s amazement, before he bows slightly. “My elder here is known as _the Doctor._ We have crossed timelines in a most unseemly paradoxical event.”

“…the Doctor?” the Doctor looks at the other man, shaking his head slowly. “No. No…that’s impossible. I don’t have any faces left.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Clara says, voice slightly strangled. The other man – the fake Doctor – shifts slightly, blinking at the sight of her.

“I know you,” he says. “You were the waitress at the diner in the middle of nowhere, the one in the wrong valley.”

“I was,” Clara says, giving a strained smile. “You’re the Doctor. You play the guitar and wear stupid sonic sunglasses.”

“They aren’t stupid,” the other man defends, before his grip on Theta Sigma’s hand tightens visibly. “Ashildr. Now _there’s_ a regret.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Ashildr glares at the man, “just get us out of here. Your younger self won’t remember this later, so all bets are off. Where’s your TARDIS?”

“We were kidnapped,” Missy sighs, “he just told you that. I was all nicely tucked away in my cell and he was guarding me- well,” she pauses, “teaching me to play the piano.”

“Shush,” the other man – Doctor? – says and the _Doctor_ doesn’t know what to believe. Maybe this other man is him, in the future, but the Doctor doesn’t know how. He senses the Doctor’s turmoil, anyway, looking back at him. “You’re Eleven. I’m Twelve. Technically, number fourteen. I was given a new set of regenerations to play with.”

The Doctor’s shoulders drop. Eleven’s shoulder’s drop. _A new set of regenerations. Of course._ Eleven looks at his hands briefly, trying to imagine living longer than he already has, to die once more and take on a new identity.

“Right,” Eleven says, uneasy. He focuses on something else, looking at Theta Sigma, the next elephant in the room. “And you ran into our younger self. Our _very_ younger self.”

“Wait, what?” Clara startles, letting out a surprised laugh. “Oh, _is_ it?”

“Of course,” Theta smiles at her. “I’m my own very first face, before I’m all grown up! Watch this!” Theta turns to Twelve, tugging at his muddy arm. “Do the thing where you pick me up.”

Twelve looks down amusedly. “Fine,” he says, before swinging them onto his back, giving them a piggy-back ride. “They’re obsessed,” Twelve says wryly, Theta’s arms wrapped around his neck tightly, as if they were a monkey rather than a Time Tot – and Eleven would willingly burn his poncho if that child was any old than twenty…or twenty-five, rather.

“I don’t remember this,” Eleven says, even though now – and only _now_ – can he vaguely remember the sensation of drowning, of sinking and crying until his throat is raw. But it’s misty and vague, to be forgotten and yet still forming. That’s the problem with paradoxes. Nothing is set, yet everything writes itself into existence anyway.

He looks around their new group. Clara, the mystery companion; Ashildr, the angry immortal teenager; Luke Smith, the orphaned, genius, Archetype human; Anthony Williams, the American legacy of the Ponds; Missy, the Master in female form; and three versions of the Doctor, the original, the last and the very first of a new cycle.

“Why bring us together?” Anthony questions, “Do you know, Doctors, Missy?”

“Last time I was here,” Missy starts, looked rankled, “I was on a rescue mission slash immortality quest. The High Council wanted me to find the Doctor – none of his regenerations believed me.”

“Why would we?” Twelve questions in amusement. “You’re not the most trustworthy character.”

“Oh, hush, you blithering idiot,” Missy rolls her eyes, edging towards him. Eleven tenses, but Twelve doesn’t even flinch, almost _welcoming_ her into his personal space. Their arms are brushing in multiple places and their faces are inches apart and for a stark second, Eleven wonders if they’re _involved_. “Why do _you_ think we were kidnapped?”

“Maybe someone is trying to get us into a terrible situation that puts Theta at risk, endangering our entire personal time and the universe, while we’re at it,” Twelve offers, Missy humming happily.

“That big brain of yours must be working _so_ hard, trying to keep up.”

Twelve scoffs, but before he can reply to her words, Anthony clears his throat, attracting their attention. Eleven does a one-eighty to face him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Anthony eyes the bantering couple. “I just want to know where we go next. Obviously, you had some kind of incident with a…bog, was it? We got stuck in a time spot, of sorts.”

“Temporal hotspot,” Eleven translates for their new companions.

“Yeah, that,” Anthony says, “So far, we’ve only been safe when we stayed on the road.”

… _huh._ Eleven looks around, smiling as he realises. _He’s right. Good old Pond genes, noticing things I didn’t._

“Does this road even go to the Dark Tower?” Luke asks, peering into the distance. “I don’t think there’s a road.”

“There could be,” Twelve answers, “but there might not be. We won’t know until we look and what we see might not be real. Everything in here is controlled by the Gameboard.”

“I vote for walking in a straight line until we reach it,” Eleven submits.

“I want to follow the road,” Ashildr says, Clara nodding.

“Following the road sounds safer.”

Theta shuffles around, chin coming to rest on top of the sticky clump on top of Twelve’s head. “I just want to go home. Brax was babysitting me. He’ll be worried.”

 _Brax_ , Eleven thinks, floored at the reminder of his brother. He sucks in a breath, matched by Twelve and Missy.

“Who’s Brax?” Clara asks cautiously.

“One of my many brothers and certainly the most sensible,” Theta rolls their eyes dramatically. “He’s going to be a politician or something, not a renegade or a TARDIS farmer. He works in a _library._ ”

“Libraries are dangerous,” Twelve says, tone odd and his shared look with Eleven tells the younger Doctor why. “There could be anything lurking there, between the pages of a book.”

“How boring can you be to not want to escape into a book?” Ashildr asks, unaware of the true implication of what could be hiding in a book.

 _Vashta Nerada,_ Eleven thinks, _the Library was their forest._

“How can you escape into a book?” Theta questions the woman. “Virtual simulations aren’t counted as books, on Gallifrey.”

“Don’t try getting clever with him,” Eleven advises everyone, “My younger self is somewhat simple, despite his intelligence.”

Theta’s wrinkles their nose. “Rude. I want to go along the road, now.”

“Are you saying that because he said the opposite?” Missy asks gleefully, getting a short nod from the Time Tot. “I forgot how precocious you were, Doctor. I vote for the road, too.”

“It’s up to us,” Twelve says, looking between Anthony and Luke. “We can tie the decision, or someone can abstain.”

“Or come up with an alternative,” Anthony adds.

“Yes, but _what_ alternative, I’ve no idea,” Twelve admits. “I’m actually pretty tied on either option. I’ll abstain.”

“Great,” Missy rolls her eyes. “Put pressure on the humans.”

“I say we follow the road,” Anthony puffs, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. Naturally, all eyes turn to Luke. The nineteen year old hesitates, hands shaking slightly around his pockets, as if he doesn’t know whether to tuck them away or not.

“Uh,” he starts, before a beeping sound comes from Eleven’s pocket. Similarly, one comes from Twelve’s. Both Doctor’s scramble to take out their sonic screwdrivers, Twelve depositing Theta on the ground as he takes out a rather bulky blue and silver sonic. Eleven compares them in his head, wondering what Twelve’ TARDIS interior looks like even as he checks on the sonic.

“The TARDIS!” he exclaims.

Twelve grins, “Someone turned on the beacon, lighting our way home.” Both Doctor’s move to the edge of the blue road, then, sonics held up in the direction of the Dark Tower, but…a little _off._ Then, something strange happens, the ground rumbling beneath their feet. Before Eleven’s eyes, the surrounding moorland _shifts,_ more blue cobble rising up to form a new road, aimed straight in the direction they were pointing.

“Huh,” Eleven lowers his sonic, turning off the beeping. Twelve does likewise. “Well, we have our road. Luke?”

“…let’s take the road,” the young man states, making Eleven grin, even if his own _go in a straight line to the Dark Tower_ plan wasn’t really used. It wasn’t like the road didn’t go in a vaguely straight line anyway, over small hills and through moorland – and then on to what looks like grassland.

“A la sandshoes,” Eleven starts, tucking the sonic away under his poncho, “Allons-y!”


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

The first thing that happens when he wakes up is that he bangs his head. The Doctor moans, raising a hand to his forehead, holding the banged bit protectively. He can feel the pulsing of his brain and it _hurts_ , more than his brain already aches, from what feels like yet _another_ memory wipe.

“No, no, _please…_ ” the Doctor opens his eyes, discovering that no, he is not in his TARDIS and no, he is not in a morgue again – now _that_ was an interesting location to wake up in, especially freshly regenerated. But neither is he on Earth or on a moon recovering from his fifth self accidentally hitting him with the bottle of champagne they brought on their Poosh picnic again – though, knowing his luck, his older self showed up and that’s why he’s confused, now.

“…where am I?” he asks out loud as he looks up at the familiar Gallifreyan sky, startling as a small voice speaks up from behind him.

“Mum said it was called something scary, but my head’s all fuzzy and bubbly.”

The Doctor twists in his velvet coat, realising he’s sitting in some sort of flowery field. A girl with bright red hair is sniffling, sat down behind him as she rubs her eyes, dressed in a yellow anorak, blue skirt and a white shirt- _no, a dress,_ the Doctor realises, even though the black belt makes the shirt looks like its separate. The Doctor shakes his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs around his mind, but they’re being awfully insistent on staying, today.

Sighing, the Doctor turns around proper, getting onto his knees, not minding how he gets his trousers a little muddy – they’re brown, anyway, same colour as the ground. “What’s your name, little one? I’m the Doctor.”

The girl stops sniffling, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

The Doctor smiles at her, “I am. Have you heard of me, before?”

“Yes,” the girl breathes, before lunging at him, arms wrapping around his neck as she burrows her head in his neck. The Doctor, slightly surprised, doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her. “I’m- I’m Jennifer.”

“Hello, Jennifer,” the Doctor says softly. “Have we met before?”

“Yes. But you’re older, a _lot_ older.”

“Oh,” the Doctor thinks that over very quickly, “Well, you’d better not tell me things about my own future, just in case. I won’t ask you any questions, either, if I can help it. What are you doing here, then?”

“I left the TARDIS,” Jennifer says, voice muffled where her face tucks into his collar, “I- I wanted to go outside. You said no. Mum said- mum said _definitely_ no.”

 _I travel with a mother-daughter duo in the future?_ The Doctor wonders at that, guessing that maybe his adventures tone down in the future if it’s safe enough for that. Though, considering that this is apparently quite the dangerous place, the Doctor isn’t so sure on that estimate.

“The flowers are making my mind feel funny, Dad,” Jennifer mumbles and the Doctor’s hearts beat double-time.

_Oh. I’m a father again? I’m- I’m a father again!_

The Doctor can’t help but grin, even as he gets to his feet, lifting the young girl up – and oh, there’s that double-pulse, two hearts and some regeneration energy to spare – and tucking her into his side. He gently rests a hand against her face, fingers drifting up to her telepathic nodes.

“Let me see, little one,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he tilts their heads together. A familial bond appears instantly, time wisping around it – it’ll disappear when they part, just like his bond with Susan, even though he raised that girl, even though Susan was a _baby_ when she appeared in his arms and the Doctor was the only family she ever knew.

Jennifer is right, though, there _is_ something wrong with her mind. It’s being twisted, her brain chemistry changing. A dangerous situation in itself, discounting how such a change this young could halt her development both mental and physical, so the Doctor becomes determined to get her out of this field – Jennifer is anything but stupid, if she’s a Time Tot. The Doctor believes her if she says the flowers are what are making her so ill.

That being said, there’s something to say about how the Doctor is handling his own mental demons, so used to mind manipulation in this body that he only _sighs_ at not being able to clear his own head out immediately.

Opening his eyes, the Doctor catalogues their surroundings, even as his mind envelops his daughter’s, creating an impenetrable barrier that only he can access. Jennifer fights him, though, her mind protesting at being cut off from the universe and the Doctor sends her to sleep – the subconscious is a powerful enemy and it wouldn’t help if her conscious mind began to help revolt against his restraints. Jennifer grows slack in his arms and he begins to walk in a random direction.

He walks for at least an hour through that field of flowers. At some point, however, the flowers must have begun to affect his memory, because the Doctor…he can’t remember who the girl in his arms is. All he knows is that she’s important, to be protected. He blinks rapidly, nearly tripping over the downed body of- of-

The Doctor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. Why does he call himself ‘the Doctor’, anyway? Something about helping, about- about being _kind_. Kindness, yes, that sounds about right. The girl in his arms nearly slips down his side, but the Doctor hikes her up again, plugging her nose rather than his own.

The flowers. The flowers are doing something to him.

The Doctor sees a hut in the distance, a cottage. He staggers towards it, ignoring the husks that are bodies of mindless predators. One is green and incredibly tall, with claws and another is short, spiky and red – a Zocci, the Doctor has a friend who’s a Zocci, he thinks. The cottage doesn’t get any closer, but then the door opens and a yellow-skinned, three-headed being motions him inside. Then, it’s like the field doesn’t exist anymore and he’s right in front of the being, as if he’s travelled a kilometre in less than a second.

“Who are you?” says one head of the tri-headed being.

“We don’t actually care,” says another, irritated.

“Who cares?” the third head blinks in confusion.

“ _We do_ ,” says the first head.

“Uh,” the Doctor adjusts his grip on his…ward? “Could you please tell us where we are, how to cure whatever has been done to us and who I am?”

The three heads look at each other, before the first head answers shortly, “We’re on the edge of the Mind Field. Cure your ill with that what first ailed you. You’re a prisoner of Rassilon.”

“Oh,” the Doctor takes that in, before nodding, speaking on automatic, “Thank-you.”

“Go away,” says the second head, the being closing the door to their cottage slowly, watching them until there’s only a sliver before abruptly slamming the yellow wood. The Doctor slowly turns back to the field, stepping forwards and carefully sitting down, laying his charge on his lap, her head resting against his chest.

Breathing in the flowery scent makes him swoon, but the Doctor doesn’t hesitate before grabbing a flower and stuffing it in his mouth. Immediately, the cobwebs in his head are blown out of the water, but very few things trickle back into his mind. _Trauma,_ he supplies himself the answer, _everything will take time to return._

The Doctor feeds a flower to his ward. _Jennifer_ , he remembers, still unable to remember anything else about her or himself. He knows that he comes from a planet on the brink of war. He knows he travels through time in some form of capsule – one that changes as he does. _I change?_ The Doctor frowns, looking down at Jennifer. _Would she know what I mean by that?_ The Doctor has a funny thought – he thinks she would.

The Doctor measures his own pulse, getting a base measure of what he runs like. He goes through other checks, too, including one with his mind, finding a barrier around Jennifer’s mind. Sceptical, the Doctor decides to leave it be, not remembering why it’s up in the first place. She feels familiar – like home and the warmth in his hearts when he thinks of those he loves. _Do I love anyone?_ He wonders, imagining a husband waiting for him, with thirteen children that have children of their own. The Doctor imagines himself old and decrepit, but so extremely young. He wonders if his imagination is really true – if it’s all memories filling in the blanks – but he can’t be sure.

The Doctor sighs, then stands once more, Jennifer slumbering away through it all.

* * *

There are more cottages. Residents poke their heads out of the doors and windows. The ramshackle lodgings become more gathered together the further towards the snowy mountain, until they’re all together, one circle of dwellings with a bonfire in the middle that has been recently fed. Against the orange sky, the smoke doesn’t seem so strange, compared to what Earth is like – it just looks like smog.

_What is Earth?_

“Time Lord!” the Doctor hears someone hiss. The village look at him with fear, worry and worst, paranoia.

Approaching a solitary old woman with three eyes and cane twice her height, the Doctor softly questions, “Hello, excuse my presence here, but…where is _here?_ ”

The old woman looks at him with scepticism. “Gallifrey.”

“Oh.” The Doctor’s lips tingle and time buzzes. _It’s wrong, here._ “Where on Gallifrey? And when? Time is strange, here. It feels like we’re in some alternate space.”

“That’s the thing with you Time Lords, always knowing the answer to your own questions,” the old woman rolls her eyes. “This is the Ouroborus Village. We were taken from our homes and times and dropped here to give the landscape _character._ The children haven’t aged, we elders haven’t turned to stardust-”

“Oh!” the Doctor exclaims, lips turning up as he adjusts Jennifer on his hip. “‘Turned to stardust’, that was what my mother always said would happen to her! What does it actually mean, milady, do you know?”

The woman stares at him. “Your mother said that to you? But…but you _stink_ of the Schism, boy.”

“I’m far from a boy,” the Doctor frowns delicately. “My mother was…she was an enigma. Unfortunately, this regeneration of mine has quite the problem with memories – that field didn’t make it any better.”

“Stop talking to Nana-Nana,” a _thwack_ reverberates through the air before it hits the back of the Doctor’s knees. He drops down, barely keeping balance as the old woman shoots to her feet, surprisingly quick. Her hand snags out, dragging a blue, four-armed child in a threadbare green dress into his view.

“Artaura, what is town law?” ‘Nana-Nana’ says, looming over the child with a positively volcanic expression, anger close to erupting. The child stamps their foot, silent, a bound bundle of twigs in hand. Nana-Nana shakes them sharply. “Town law: every townsperson helps everyone they see. No harm should ever befall another under our watch. Apologise or you will see the same fate you brought upon this Time Lord.”

The child stamps their foot again, letting out an alien holler, the shout changing in pitch dramatically. They tug and pull, trying to get out of Nana-Nana’s grip, but she holds firm and then the bundle of twigs in the child’s arms leaves them and lowers down in a show of telekinetic power, twisting abruptly to hit the child on the back of their legs. The child’s holler ends and they go rock-still. The Doctor watches as Nana-Nana lifts them up gently, delivering them to another blue, four-armed being who is at least eight feet taller than she is.

“I know you’re relatively new to the town,” Nana-Nana says to them both, “but the town rules _will_ be respected. A hurt for a hurt.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” the being replies staunchly, taking the still-stunned child into one of the larger cottages in the ring. Nana-Nana turns back to the Doctor.

“Are you here to stay?”

The Doctor, slightly entranced by the unfamiliar village, is already storing away what town rules he heard away in his head. At Nana-Nana’s question, he refocuses, standing up slowly, once more adjusting Jenny on his hip.

“It isn’t safe for me to stay places, it never is, not with my history.” The Doctor swallows, thinking of enemies he can barely picture. His past is a huge blank space, but the foreboding that lingers in his mind is telling enough. “If you could…if you could look after Jennifer until I return, however, I would be forever grateful.”

Nana-Nana’s three eyes dart to Jennifer and back. “No. Children need guardians and none will take a Time Lord child. We will provide you guidance in how to navigate this deathly place, so that she might remain in your care.”

The Doctor’s shoulders drop. “Okay. Thank-you very much for your offer of assistance – I’ll take you up on it, if you don’t mind.”

“A polite Time Lord,” Nana-Nana huffs. “If only the _other_ one was so nice.”

 _Other one?_ The Doctor raises an eyebrow, seeing an opportunity here for companionship and mayhaps, understanding. “Are they still here?”

“Got ‘em working in the records room,” Nana-Nana says tiredly. “She’s a fighter, or she was. Regeneration was stressful for her. She likes the quiet, now and getting lost in paperwork. Or rather, stonework. We’ve got no paper, here.”

“Understandable,” the Doctor says, shuffling Jennifer once more. “May I meet her?”

“Sure,” Nana-Nana snorts, “if she wants to. She’s a right bitch.”

“I’ll be nice,” the Doctor promises, before Nana-Nana directs him to the records room. She even leads him over, magnanimous as she opens the faded white curtain, which reveals a brightly lit space. Once inside, Nana-Nana leaves him. The Doctor doesn’t blame her – she probably didn’t want to lead him through the considerable maze of stone plaques inside. He glances at a few – most being trade records of wood and produce.

Careful not to knock anything over, the Doctor skirts around corners, going deep into the surprisingly large records room. He follows the sounds of cursing, wishing he had four arms like the blue beings from before, just so he could but his hands over Jennifer’s ears.

“Excuse me,” he calls out when he gets close, unable to discern where the noise is coming from anymore. The voice stops. “Hello, I’m trying to find the resident Time Lady. I’m a little lost.”

Two point three seconds pass, before the Doctor feels a hand on his shoulder. He barely manages not to jump, hyper-aware of the fragile stones around them. Turning slowly, the Doctor faces the unknown Time Lady.

In the brightly lit space, her dark skin reflects the light, shaved head tattooed with Gallifreyan poetry about mathematics in bright red. The Time Lady matches the Doctor for height, however and wears a red, Greek-style toga, her feet tucked into brown furred boots. Brown eyes bore into his.

“Who are you?” she asks shortly. “I have work to be doing.”

“I’m the Doctor,” he introduces happily, offering a hand _just_ as he remembers who Jennifer is. “This is my daughter, Jennifer. Who might you be?”

The Time Lady stares at him, then quite suddenly grins, white teeth stark against her face. “Doctor! It’s you! Oh, I haven’t seen you in _quite_ some time. It is I: Romanadvoratrelundar.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen, outstretched hand moving to grip her arm. “Really? Oh, my friend! It is good to see you!” He moves forwards, wrapping her in a one-armed hug as she returns it, twice-fold and around Jennifer, as well.

“I’ve been trapped in this despairing land for centuries, Doctor,” Romana says in a deeply tired sigh, leaning into him. “So long _fighting_ …”

“Is this land dangerous, then?” the Doctor questions. Romana shakes her head, pulling away from him.

“The Time War, Doctor. I was fighting in the Time War, same as you.”

* * *

The eighth regeneration of the Time Lord known as _the Doctor_ did not fight in the Time War, not for long. Romana herself never met the incarnation of her dear friend who truly did, but if she had, she would have known not to say a single word about the future that had still to pass for this Doctor. Any other future regeneration of the Doctor but that one who fought the War would have been able to offer condolences, have an understanding of what she went through and perhaps have a _single_ _inkling_ as to the horrors a Time War can make of a new regeneration.

But this Doctor has not fought and had only heard whispers of the travesties yet to come, before Romana confirmed them in one simple paragraph.

“…I haven’t fought, yet,” the Doctor whispers, fraught.

Romana, to her credit, realises her mistake, but it’s too late. What’s said has been said and now, there only lives in the Doctor’s mind the undeniable knowledge that in his future, set in stone, is that he will fight.

“My apologies,” Romana mutters. “I didn’t mean to burden you, my friend.”

The Doctor miserably thinks back to his history classes, remembering what they said of the Time Wars that have happened before. “Two entire wars, fought and locked away from anyone ever accessing them. The renegades were famous, even after the histories were erased. I was made infamous in this Time War, wasn’t I?”

“All renegades are,” Romana says. “But you were lucky in one respect – you weren’t recruited to be President during the height of it all.”

The Doctor cringes. “That would be most horrible and confusing. I do my own thing.”

Romana gives him an indescribable look. “Most horrible and confusing. That about sums it up. Surely being deposed in peacetimes would be the correct ending, however.”

The Doctor imagines it, “I suppose. Depending on the events of the Time War, then yes, most likely. Let me guess – Rassilon? It would make sense. Someone told me that I was brought here by him, somehow.”

“You would be correct, strangely enough,” Romana says and of course, it clicks in the Doctor’s mind, then, that Romana’s described situation was not, in fact, hypothetical or imaginary.

“Ah,” the Doctor winces, “How was the Presidency?”

“I was a war-time president and I was doing pretty well with the clean-up, actually,” Romana replies wearily. “It took a century and a half for Rassilon to gather his loyal council and call for a candidacy vote. Then, once I was forcibly retired, he had me kidnapped and brought here. I think it’s become more of his own personal doll-house, rather than a prison. All the beings in this place were brought here as scenery or as obstacles.”

“But- but you’ve managed to create this town, so he must not be watching you very closely,” the Doctor frowns, before Jennifer stirs, finally.

“Dad?”

“Yes, my sweet child?” the Doctor immediately turns all his attention on her, smiling sadly when she spits out the flower that had poisoned her in the first place. “That wasn’t nice, was it?”

Jennifer shakes her head, looking around, still slumped against the Doctor’s chest. “No. Where are we?”

“My home,” Romana says, “or rather, my office.”

Jennifer looks around for a long series of moments, taking everything in, including Romana. “Who are you?”

“Romanadvoratrelundar,” the Time Lady introduces, neither adult expecting Jennifer to sit up straight, eyes going wide.

“Really?”

“…yes,” Romana narrows her eyes. “What has the Doctor told you about me?”

“She’s from the future,” the Doctor rushes to explain, before Jennifer can say anything. “My future self’s child. We were brought here, too.”

“My mum’s here,” Jennifer says, looking slightly nervous. “Her wife doesn’t recognise her, because she regenerated and we were playing a game. When mum finds me, can you pretend to be called something else?”

“Why should I? _I_ am Romana,” Romana says, snapping. “Is she pretending to be me?”

“Yes, but don’t shout at me, I’m not my mum,” Jennifer glares balefully, snapping right back. Romana grumbles, before questioning sharply.

“Who’s your mother? What’s her real name?”

“I don’t know her real name,” Jennifer says, “Real names aren’t allowed with Time Lords.”

“Jennifer,” the Doctor scolds, interested to know the answer to her question. “Who’s your mother? My future partner?”

Only when he asks, does he realise what he’s asking. Romana makes a noise of begrudging protest.

“Don’t,” she orders, clearly annoyed. “The Doctor shouldn’t know his own personal future. Knowing his granddaughter was pushing it, but you’re basically illegal. How old are you, even?”

“Twelve,” Jennifer says, like that doesn’t mean she is truthfully _a baby._ The Doctor grips her tighter, to her confusion. “Too tight,” she says, frowning. The Doctor recognises the look on her face as ‘wants to say more’, but Jennifer goes quiet, obviously thinking hard.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Romana says, fiercely defensive of Jennifer, now, as is her right – anyone who understands the implications of a Time Tot being _twelve_ should be. “You should be in the Academy learning astrophysics, not trapped in this forsaken place.”

“Gallifrey’s still rebuilding, in the far future,” Jennifer says. “Mum doesn’t want me going, not for a long time.”

“Well, that’s her prerogative,” Romana eyes the Doctor with a hint of humour. “Though, if it’s because they failed, then that’s different – _biased_ , even.”

“I didn’t do that badly,” the Doctor lies horribly, deciding he needs to change the subject. “Anyway, this place – where are we, again?”

“The Death Zone, of course,” Romana shakes her head, before turning and leading him down the aisles. “How were you kidnapped?”

“Can’t remember,” the Doctor admits, “it’s something of a bad habit.”

“The TARDIS,” Jennifer says shortly afterwards. Immediately, Romana whips around, eyes alight.

“There’s a TARDIS here? _Here?_ ” Romana questions, breathless. “Where?”

“I- I don’t know,” Jennifer curls into the Doctor’s chest slightly, nervous. “There was fog and then I was forgetting everything.”

“The Mind Field,” the Doctor supplies. Romana becomes calculating.

“I’ve had hundreds of years to map this place. It changes, but not often. You must have been in the Well.” Romana makes a disgruntled face, “The _Well_ being a swirling vortex of space and time, a labyrinth without walls. It’s a miracle your daughter here found her way to the edge. One foot in the wrong direction, you’ll never make it out – I was lost in there for thirty years, once. It’ll be damn near _impossible_ to get back to the TARDIS, unless your future self has some kind of homing beacon set up. The sonic screwdriver should work well enough to guide us, if we can turn it on.”

“Well, we have our goal, then,” the Doctor smiles widely, “Find my future self and save everyone!”

Romana sighs, shaking her head at him, “I forgot how you were. So mad and stupid. But you speak the truth. _If_ there is a homing beacon.”

“I’ll have one set up by now,” the Doctor argues, “surely.”

As one, the Time Lords look to Jennifer, who shrugs, quiet. Romana then reaches for them, rifling through the Doctor’s right-hand pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Where’s your sonic?” she questions roughly, turning to his left pocket, necessitating Jennifer’s move to his opposite hip. “Doctor, where do you keep it, nowadays?”

“Inside pocket, maybe?” the Doctor checks himself, frowning. “I must have left it in the TARDIS.”

“That’s helpful,” Jennifer mutters.

“Cheeky girls should shut their mouths,” Romana snaps, riled up. “I just want to leave! Everyone just wants to _leave!_ Is that so much to ask?”

“Romana, Romana, shh – listen, I’ll help, I’ll find a way.” The Doctor promises, reaching out for her arm, but Romana pulls away from him, speeding backwards and around a corner. The Doctor hurries to follow her, but he quickly loses her, getting lost in the aisles of stone tablets.

“What to do, what to do?”

“That way?” Jennifer points to the left, the Doctor walking down that way, then taking another left, around a corner. Miraculously, it only takes another two lefts and a right to find the exit, where they first came in. Outside, it seems to be some kind of lunch or dinner hour, animal carcasses roasting on spits at the edge of the blazing firepit.

 _How does that work?_ The Doctor wonders, _do the animals replenish themselves in this place? Can they even breed?_ It’s an interesting question he has no time to get answers to. Seeing Nana-Nana over by a circle of other elderly folk, the Doctor makes a beeline to her.

“Excuse me,” he says hurriedly, interrupting someone who was talking to her, “Very sorry, but the other Time Lord, Romana – she’s a friend of mine and I rather lost her after she got upset. I have a means of transportation in a place called the Well, but no way to find it, you see-”

“You could get us out of here?” Nana-Nana’s eyes lock on his and around them, there’s a sudden silence. The Doctor looks around nervously, swallowing. “Your ‘friend’ will be no help to you, if she’s in one of her moods. Garril can navigate the Well.”

“No offence, madam, but Romana was my best friend. The only navigational services I need are to find my way through the records room,” the Doctor says.

“Dad, stop, you’re upsetting them,” Jennifer immediately hisses, clawing at his velvet jacket.

Nana-Nana stands, clenching her staff. “Two hundred years I’ve lived and over half of that in this hellscape. You _will_ get us out of here or-”

“Or what, Elder?” the Doctor twists around to see Romana, bedecked in a far hardier outfit than before. Gone is her toga, replaced with short brown breeches and a dark red, sleeveless leather tunic, shoddy stitching holding together the shoulder that’s peppered with blackened laser burns. A utility belt around wraps around her waist and the Doctor’s skin crawls at the sight of several illegal time weapons, including a paradox stabiliser and a time loop grenade.

“A warrior,” Jennifer whispers and there is too much _awe_ in her voice.

Romana strides up to them, confident and terrifying. “The Doctor will survive this. I know, for he was the one to save Gallifrey from itself and the Daleks. If he dies here, the universe might just rip itself apart.”

“An exaggeration-”

“It’s not,” Jennifer interrupts Nana-Nana with a hateful voice, “My dad’s saved the universe _hundreds_ of times already and they will again and again, until the end of all time.”

“That I will,” the Doctor says quietly, staring at this girl who will be _his_. “Thank-you for your words, Jennifer.”

“Your welcome,” Jennifer puffs up, proud of herself.

“Enough posturing,” Romana rolls her eyes. “From both of you. Nana-Nana, we’re going now. Once we’ve defeated Rassilon, we’ll take everyone home and maybe do some memory wipes, if that’s what you all want or need.”

“…fine,” Nana-Nana drops back down onto her seat. “If you don’t save us, then I curse you. Go rot and die.”

“Likewise,” Romana motions to the Doctor and Jennifer. “Let’s go, before they get even more snippy.”

“If you say so,” the Doctor looks between the Elder and his friend, before following Romana as she leads them from the Ouroborus Village.


End file.
